


A horrible scene ensued. Within the den a frightful tragedy was enacted,

by Ellinor



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Clowns, Depersonalization, Dissociation, Fake animal cruelty? It's against a taxidermy manifestation of a fear god? how do you tag that?, Gen, Identity Issues, Kidnapped Jonathan Sims, Stranger Avatar Sasha James, Taxidermy, Unreliable Narrator, Use of Whips, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25376116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellinor/pseuds/Ellinor
Summary: NotThem took Sasha. It took her, and hid her away, and you could call it some twisted version of running off to join the circus, but there is a lot of running, not a lot of voluntary joining of said circus. She put up a struggle, a fairly good one, considering how others fare. The Lion Tamer is very well behaved now, and is ready for her first true show.The show must go on, she must adapt, she must dance along a tightrope and please the ringmistress and the audience, and she is so ready, so very excited.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	A horrible scene ensued. Within the den a frightful tragedy was enacted,

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Sasha is not killed, but in taking her memories the NotThem really messed with her head and identity, and even then when Sasha was given to the circus, she was in Nikola's hands for months, until she is ready for a show.
> 
> Potential triggers/uncomfortable things I can't figure out how to tag:
> 
> -Narrator has stitches in her mouth, they are mentioned in passing throughout the fic.  
> -There is whipping of an animal, but it's taxidermied and intelligent, and is putting on a show.  
> -There is also a portion of the violence against something that is not alive, and so it's not like, blood, but stuffing.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at @save-the-spiral-again for my TMA content, but also @save-the-spiral for wizard101 and Pirate101 content. I am multidimensional.

The Lion Tamer stood behind the curtain separating her from the main ring of the big top, grinning. Her smile was twin jagged slashes across her face, golden cord stitched into her cheeks to lift her face into permanent manic excitement, whether her eyes followed the expression or not. 

Right now they did, bright and sparkling like freshly polished glass, reflecting the multicolored gas lights, far dimmer backstage, not the large spotlights of the true show. There were some mere assistants flitting around, adjusting costumes, wardrobes, ensuring things moved smoothly. Their eyes were dead, glassy, their skin sagged, ragged, scarred, not proper for the show, the castoffs, a secondhand costume. Rather unpleasant to see, but she knew the necessity, else the performers would spend their time keeping the Circus running, not practicing and perfecting themselves in whatever way Nikola wanted. 

The dullness of waiting backstage wore on every performer, some behind the Lion Tamer were shuffling and practicing, aborted motions and momentary twitches of anticipation. As always, they waited nonetheless, diligent and obedient, but the spotlight called to them, the show always did.

The Lion Tamer was no exception to this anticipation, but she simply stood in place no matter her feelings. A soldier at attention, hands gripped on the thick braided handle of her bullwhip, the black leather creaking under her thin white gloves. She sometimes convinced herself that she could feel the bone underneath the braided leather, but it was a mere flight of fancy, not to do with her performance, not really, so she let it slip away, like so many idle thoughts not to do with the show.

The circus’ master, Nikola Orsinov, the only one with a name, was welcoming the next act. Her voice was loud, sinking into the Lion Tamer’s mind and her body, a siren song that left them standing proud, shoulders back, face pulling at the gold stitches as she tried to smile ever wider. 

The show must go on. The show must go on. The show must go on.

The Lion Tamer was so excited for the show to come. She was ecstatic, high on it, almost jittery as she tried to contain herself. The show was starting, and she was a star, for the first time. She was now the Lion Tamer, with a role, a job, and she couldn’t wait to begin. No longer an assistant, no longer without a role to fulfill. 

Then an assistant opened the scarlet curtains and the lights were on her in pure white, sparkling back and dazzling the crowd with her gilded stitches and epaulets and buttons. Her bright yellow jacket and black slacks cut a satisfying silhouette, and the Lion Tamer grinned at the crowd, screams and laughter the same as they layered like paint, mixing into a new, perfect color, spilling over her, seeping between her stitches and into her skin. 

Tragedy and Comedy, merged into one perfect mask for the circus performers to wear as one, no discrete individuals here. There is just show and audience, us and them. Masks, disguises, costumes, as interchangeable as skin, as faces Nikola can so easily steal from any one person, anyone who dared leave the audience and become a volunteer, whether it be from fear or the show’s call.

The Lion Tamer cracked her whip, high into the air, and the brave volunteer up on the tightrope flinched hard, causing parts of the crowd to gasp and scream and cackle. 

The Lion Tamer was speaking, calling out to the crowd. It was a sweet thing, being the star. She could play the audience, and was left always guessing. Much like living beings as individuals, Nikola once said, though the comparison made her skin wrinkle in a show of displeasure. But, she said, you never knew how a single person would react to something, maybe pain would cause them to tighten like a bowstring, or cry out, or sob, or gasp in delight. Either way the knife must go in, Nikola said, either way you must skin them in the end, but being able to react and put on a proper show as you did so was the most important factor.

The Lion Tamer twirled wildly, jacket flaring, whip dancing in air, a ribbon of promised pain. She cracked it again, a sharp gunshot of sound, and gestured to a previously caged entrance to the ring. A deep, proud roar echoed around the big top, tilting the balance of scream laughs from the crowd into gasps and delighted wonder, giggles of anticipation pitter pattering slowly dying hearts. 

Then the lion bolted out of the cage, and the audience gasped, realizing the door had never been locked, that any time a beast of claws and fangs could have burst forth, using a clown as a squeaky toy, chasing the dancers as if they were bothersome flies or agile prey. Only now did he run forth, mouth slightly open as he panted, golden brown fur rippling and shining in the bright lights. His scarred pelt showed slashes, brands, attacks and attempts to subdue a proud beast, and some in the audience gasped.

“Ladies, Gents, neither and both! May I present the Macarte Lion? He has killed his master, and now found a place among us, here at the Circus! As you can see, try as they might, no one could tame him! He tore the flesh from his once master’s bones, feasted upon it!” The Lion Tamer turned her back on the lion, gesturing wildly to the audience, who went silent with fear as they watched the Macarte Lion begin to stalk the Tamer. 

“Under my rule, however, he is tame- never fear!” The Lion Tamer smirked, playing up an audacious pride as the beast stopped, staring at her open back, wiggling in place as he prepared to pounce, tail lashing. 

And pounce he did, the audience screaming once again, and the Tamer cracked their whip, wrapping it around the beast’s throat, and she pulled, bringing it down to the dusty ground, it’s roar choked in it’s nonexistent lungs. She put one booted foot upon the shoulder of the stunned beast, like a hunter taking a photo after poaching something wild and precious.

The Lion Tamer pulled back their whip, letting it curl again into an idle loop, and splayed their arms wide, bowing as the audience screamed once again, cheering, jeering, frothing at the mouth for more show, more more more blood, drunk on it, high on it, addicted to it. 

And what kind of performer would the Lion Tamer be to deny an audience their one simple wish? 

The Tamer cracked their whip again into the air as they stepped back, and the Macarte Lion recovered, standing and swaying and growling as the hot lights focused on him and only him, a blinding beam. The Lion Tamer began to prowl on the outskirts of the circle of light, ensnared by the darkness, if not for the glimmering of their stitches, the slither of their whip dragging along the hard packed, dusty floor.

They continued this dance, this push and pull, him leaping, her cracking the whip. They were one unit, cohesive as the two couriers that worked for the Circus, each communicating with subtle language of tail flicks and twitches of fingers. It was an inhale of breath, a choked gasp that pulled the lungs until the throat ached and the tongue dried, then the exhale, a scream of shock until the diaphragm ached. 

The Lion Tamer guided the Macarte Lion through a flaming hoop, to an endless chaotic applause. She gestured a clown forth, and the rotund man grinned, cackling and acting as a matador, the beast chasing a large string of tied handkerchiefs. 

The lion didn’t tire, neither did the clown, neither did the Tamer. The show must go on, the show does not rest. The lion and clown pretended to breathe and to hurt for the show itself, but they did not. The Tamer knew she still did, and thus had to be more cautious in any slapstick fun, but she knew this flaw would be remedied soon.

Another brave volunteer was called forth, not by anyone’s words, but by the Circus itself. The Tamer could not blame them for being ensnared.

“How delightful!” She grinned as always as she adapted her show, and beckoned the audience member forth. The young man, nervous even through his trance, stepped jerkily forward, eyes becoming more and more glassy as he focused on the Lion Tamer.

“I am a tamer of all beasts!” The Lion Tamer declared to the audience, whip at the ready. “Even man!” 

At those two words, the volunteer’s previous nervous disposition vanished, all of him vanished, until it was just glassy eyes, and he rushed forward, teeth bared, hands painfully stuck into clawed boney things, stiff, unyielding. 

The Tamer cracked her whip, but the man continued to run, leaning forward, mouth slavering. As he neared ever closer, his cheap shoes kicking up dust, in the background the clown and the lion were still playfully wrestling, a slapstick affair, the crowd jeering and cackling as the lion began to tear into the clown, cotton stuffing and more handkerchiefs spilling out of his chest, these ones all red and brown and pink.

The Lion Tamer spun to the side as the man ran forward, arms outstretched for her yellow jacket. She used her whip to tie it up, spinning around it in dizzying circles and giggling, until finally the braided leather handle was over the man’s neck, even as he still strained to bite, snarling, pupils blown to consume even the whites of his eyes. 

“Sometimes, these beasts need a… firmer hand.” The Lion Tamer giggled, the crowd’s screaming laugh an oppressive echo. The lights flashed into deep red, and dramatic, romantic music began to play. She stepped away, letting her whip unspool, spinning the man in a mockery of a dance, until he was stumbling, huffing. She dipped him then, to the cackles of the crowd, before letting him fall to the ground, head cracking loudly as the music continued it’s original tune. 

Then the lion, done playing with the clown, turned, and saw much more living prey lying prone on the ground. He began to stalk towards the man, to the audience’s gasps and screams of shock.

“Someone’s jealous!” The Lion Tamer drawled, then sat in the still flaming ring, crossing her legs. “May the best beast win!” She called out with her arms spread in an embrace to the audience, and the crowd began to cheer for the lion.

The man came back to himself, eyes no longer glassy as he cried out in fear, scrambling to his feet, and oh that fear in itself trickled down the Tamer’s spine, it pulled cold tendrils of air through her smile stitches. The Lion Tamer cracked her whip at his legs, and he yelped in pain, and began to run.

“Is he truly a man, or a rabbit, I wonder?” The Tamer called out, her elbow now leaning on one crossed knee, resting her chin on her closed fist.

The crowd’s screams of joy rolled through the big top, making the Lion Tamer’s heart soar. Now this was a show, she thought, watching as the Macarte Lion’s scarred body raced across the ring, faster than any living lion, smarter as well, always knowing what would make the best show.

The man cried out as the lion swiped at his heels, neatly slashing through Achilles tendons, crippling him. The man still tried to crawl forward, blood mixing with the dust and dry earth, and he coughed on it, beginning to sob in desperation as the spotlight fell on him. The lion prowled around the circle of light, an imitation of its Tamer’s previous actions. 

The man screamed, curling up into a ball, defeated, and then the lion pounced, rolling the man over onto his back like a turtle, and the audience’s laugh rose and rose and echoed in on itself, setting off another round of laughter, again and again. 

The circle of light and circle of blood were the same, and then the light dimmed, the fire in the ring the Tamer was seated on dying as well. The Lion Tamer stood now, walking silently to the center of the ring.

“Another round of applause for our wonderful new addition, the Lion Tamer!” Nikola’s voice cried out, and the audience obeyed. “I’m sure our special guest of honor would like to properly see her!” And the lights all turned bright, white, evenly distributed and no longer blinding to anyone wishing to see more than a silhouette of the Tamer.

The Lion Tamer looked up to Nikola, grinning, hoping she was proud of her. A light fell onto Nikola’s ringmistress platform, a bound, seated person at her side. The man- a watching, thin, scarred thing- was struggling, and once he caught sight of the Tamer, he began screaming against his gag, writhing again in his restraints.

“Oh Archivist, how rude of me! Oh Archivist, why don’t you say hello to our mutual friend, Archivist?” Nikola trilled, and ripped the gag out of the man- the Archivist’s- mouth.

The Archivist panted, eyes wide, staring down at the Lion Tamer. “Sasha?”

The Lion Tamer and Nikola Orsinov both tilt their heads, one in idle confusion, the other in a mockery of coyness. Nikola trilled out a giggle, beginning to circle like a shark around the Archivist, trailing a white plastic finger along the rough wood of the chair, before suddenly cupping the Archivist’s cheek, turning him to face her. 

“Sasha, look at me- Sasha, is that you?” The Archivist stared at the Lion Tamer and she didn’t like it. He was a Watcher, and she was a Stranger. He wasn’t supposed to see this much of her.

“Oh Archivist, you should have realized by now, names mean nothing here! Just another costume, one our dear Lion Tamer discarded rather quickly.” Nikola leaned in, as if sharing a secret, as if her voice wouldn’t boom around the big top anyway, “I think she was rather eager to do so, Archivist. You and Elias both are rather awful at keeping your things in good working condition, hmm? Well, Archivist, while I’d love to keep you as an esteemed guest, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to resist having you volunteer for some fun, so, boys...?” 

The Archivist opened his mouth as if to argue, but Nikola stuffed the gag back in. The two couriers, who both had names but weren’t too attached to them, lifted the Archivist’s chair, meaty hands on his thin, almost fragile looking scarred arms. 

“Now, ladies and gents, neither and both! I believe we have kept you fine folks waiting long enough, and, after all…!” Nikola rounded on the audience, who began cheering and scream laughing again, until the Circus’ performers all chorused back, finishing the phrase.

“...The show must go on!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes, you've read this probably, comment, whatever, BUT. If you want something along the same lines that I was pretty inspired by, look for Head Into The Lion's Mouth!! It's an AMAZING Danny Stoker centric fic, and I hope I didn't accidentally lift too many aspects of that amazing fic, but to be fair, the circus aesthetic is fairly one dimensional.
> 
> If you'd like to learn more about the Macarte Lion and its tamer Thomas Macarte, look up his Wikipedia page (where I got the title as well). In a morbid turn of events, the lion that killed him was taxidermied and I couldn't resist. Imagine that Nikola was like 'I WANT' and had Breakon and Hope steal it. In universe Sasha/The Lion Tamer treat him more like a house cat when not on stage.
> 
> I want to expand this into a larger story, but I have too many ideas for TMA. I gotta get em down before I forget them, so I don't write 40 pages and almost give up on a concept (sighs and stares at my other google doc tabs.)
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr at @save-the-spiral-again for my TMA content, but also @save-the-spiral for wizard101 and Pirate101 content. I am multidimensional.


End file.
